Mass Effect: Into The Traverse
by M. Cartwright
Summary: Bradley Simmons is a U.S. Marine Lance Corporal who just got back from Iraq a few months ago. He has a slight drinking problem, prefers to keep to himself, and keeps his mind preoccupied with video games after work. His friend tells him about a new game called Mass Effect and he buys it on release night. Not long after he starts the game he passes out... and awakens on Eden Prime.
1. Bradley Simmons, USMC

**MASS EFFECT: INTO THE TRAVERSE**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N**: Hey folks, welcome to my latest project, "Into The Traverse." This is going to be an experiment for me, of sorts. I am well aware of the sordid reputation that has followed stories of this nature. And I can give you a laundry list of reasons why most of you don't like them. Admittedly, I find some of the stories terrible and don't like seeing people writing for purely wish fulfillment purposes.

An author's concern should be writing something enjoyable and entertaining not only for himself/herself, but for his/her readers as well. So, with that said, I was inspired to write this type of story after reading some really good ones from various authors. Chiefly among those being EcoSeeker247's Dead Space series involving the OC Timmy Stamford who gets sucked into the bleak, and frightening universe of—you guessed it—Dead Space. If you haven't come across it, I highly recommend you reading her stories. They're phenomenal in my opinion.

Anyway, for those of you that have read these stories you're probably familiar with the basic structure. You're introduced to a character, sometimes a self-inserted one, and within the first chapter they have somehow been sucked into the game world, much to their confusion and dismay. While this eventuality will come to pass, I have decided it will _not _occur in the first chapter. I want to develop my OC so that you guys have a reason to read my story for more than just to see what kind of Shepard I'll be representing and what choices he or she makes.

If this story should prove to be successful and well-received enough, I may write its sequels that follow the storylines of the other two Mass Effect games. Be warned that, while I will try to keep things as they were in the game as best I can, some liberties will be taken. I assure you, though, that the liberties taken will be in good taste.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own rights to Mass Effect nor am I associated with Microsoft Game Studios or BioWare in any way, shape, or form. I do not hold rights to any of the video games mentioned in this story or the companies that produced them. This is solely written for the enjoyment of the readers and fans of the series and no profit is being made, requested, or accepted for this work of fiction.

**CHAPTER I: BRADLEY SIMMONS, USMC**

It was another chilling November late afternoon. The sun was teetering on the distant horizon, the sky cast in a hue of orange and pink. Clouds were spread intermittent in the sky, but for the most part, the day had been mostly cloudless. Though my attention was only half-focused on the beauty of the youthful evening; the double doors to one of the many base medical offices called for the other half of my attention.

I was standing in the parking lot arguing vehemently with myself. You see, I was scheduled to see a Navy psychiatrist to talk about my experiences overseas. Now, mind you, this was _not _a choice of my own free will; my company commander had _ordered _me to do this. I've seen the shrink, Lieutenant Commander Xander, a few times already and I can already tell you that I absolutely _do not like him_. He tries to pry into my personal life way too much for my liking.

Which, I guess I can't fault the guy too much. It is his job, after all. And it's not that I'm some wacko who's in denial about his mental stability or anything crazy like that.

I just don't like talking about myself.

And I can't remember a time when I did.

Maybe it's a by-product of living with my family. My mom worked nights—so I never got to see her as much as I'd have liked—and my dad was pretty much an asshole drunk. Now, I'm not saying he was your stereotypical drunk; a beer bellied couch potato, who got his rocks off by beating his little kid to vent his feelings of worthlessness and unattractiveness.

Because, that's totally not how he was.

He was a retired Army sergeant major; served twenty-three years and saw combat action with the Big Red One quite a few times during his career; and served as a drill sergeant for awhile to boot. After the military he picked up a day shift at a factory and got off an hour after I got out of school everyday. When he'd come home the first thing he'd do is march over to the fridge, grab a cold one, and do whatever the hell he pleased the rest of the day.

Whenever I'd bother him—be it while he watched TV, did the dishes, worked on his car or the van, or just anything, really—he would get upset and tell me to go away. If I told him I needed to tell him something he would generally inform me that "No one in life will care what the hell you have to say until you've earned their respect."

Great role model, huh? Unlike most kids I just shrugged it off and went into my room to play video games or watch TV. And that was pretty much how every day of my life aside from the one-every-year events like family gatherings, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. So, I just kinda naturally became an introvert.

Though, I gotta give me dad _some _credit; when I enlisted in the Marine Corps and got shipped off to Parris Island, I didn't have a problem keeping my mouth shut like some of my fellow recruits did. That isn't to say that my drill instructors didn't find things to torment me about… because… they did. But I suppose I was better prepared for the whole thing mentally than most of the kids who signed their souls away to good 'ol Uncle Sam like me.

Anyway, after coming to a stalemate in my argument with myself, I sighed in exasperation and marched my way into the building. It took me roughly half an hour to finally get called to see the Doc and I followed some good looking Navy gal to his office door. She knocked on the door gently three times. "Enter," he called, and I already knew he was waiting behind his desk. I could picture that smug smile on his face even before I walked in the door.

My eyes fell upon the office I had begrudgingly become familiar with since I began seeing Doc Xander. It was a pretty standard set up, to be honest. A concrete floor painted in a tacky yellow color and contrasting white walls with framed pictures, certificates, and commendations mounted to them. A pair of rectangular windows were situated in either of the back corners allowing what little natural light that the setting sun provided to flood into the room. There was a file cabinet along the left wall towards the back of the room within a few steps distance from the large mahogany desk that belonged to the Lieutenant Commander.

The Doc was sitting in a comfortable looking black padded office chair, leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and his hands cupped together under his chin. Lieutenant Commander Xander was a handsome man in his early thirties with close cropped jet black hair and baby blue eyes that sparkled as they landed upon me. He had a light tan complexion and appeared to be of Hispanic descent. As he extended his hand towards me, he spoke, his voice deep with a barely detectable accent.

"Good evening, Lance Corporal Simmons," he greeted, and I grasped his hand in a firm shake. "How was your day?"

I sat down in the considerably _less _comfortable swivel chair opposite of the commander, the desk between us, and simply shrugged at him. "Woke up, showered and dressed, only to be put on standby all damn day before finally heading out for PT and then a class on CLS by our corpsman," I droned, and then added with a totally intentional tone of annoyance, "and now I'm _here_."

The Doc tilted his head towards a piece of paper over top a folder that I assumed was my patient file and began writing. I couldn't tell what his reaction was to my quip as his face became totally unreadable. When he looked up at me finally, he smiled, but it didn't show in his eyes.

"I see," he quipped and leaned forward towards me. "So, let's pick up where we ended the last session. We were speaking about your experiences in Iraq, yes?"

I shook my head. "Not exactly; as I recall, you were asking me a bunch of questions regarding my time spent over there and my answered all amounted to 'I don't want to talk about it'. Which, I'll happily tell you again if you'd like." I chuckled. It appeared that Xander did not share my sense of humor as he stared at me rather stoically before nodding at me.

"Very well."

I gazed at him uneasily as he resumed writing on the previously blank piece of paper. Presumably about his observations of me and my answers to his queries. I was curious as to what exactly it was he was scribbling on that paper but I wasn't about to ask him. Besides, maybe I didn't _want _to know what it was he was saying about me.

After several moments of silence broken only by the sound of pen scribbling against paper, the doctor looked up at me with renewed interest. It visibly unsettled me.

"Something you said stood out to me, Simmons."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, my eyebrow cocked as I glared at him inquisitively. "What's that?"

"When I asked for clarification about whether we were speaking about your experiences in Iraq, you refused to refer to it by its name," he elucidated, leaning in far closer to me than he had before. "Instead, you chose to refer to it as 'over there'. I find such a thing interested, and quite a bit curious."

I rolled my eyes with a scowl. I despised this guy and his freaking job with every fiber of my being. He kept fishing for something, as if he _wanted _me to be your stereotypical head case after coming back from a combat zone. Really?! I spent seven months in that hellhole of a country just doing my job while trying to do as much good for the locals as I could in the time that I was there.

Did I see shit that will stay with me until the day I die? You bet your ass I did! But I didn't let it faze me like some of the other Marines I served—and continue to serve—with. I don't care who you are or where you were brought up, nothing can prepare you for seeing people residing in stone or mud huts, drinking dirty water and living in their own filth. No running water means no showers, no showers means dirty people. The stench when entering a home was enough to make my stomach churn.

And, I mean, not all parts of Iraq was like that. There were upscale sections that had many of the commodities we take for granted here in the great US of A and the some of the people bathed regularly. But for the rural areas? It was _terrible_.

Fortunately, about half way through the deployment some Army engineers came in and started building better housing for the people and developed a water purification system and installed basic plumbing to the households along with electricity. By the time we left at least _some _of the village had the things I had always taken for granted.

But all of that paled in comparison to my first kill.

_That _had been a rough one. But, that's a story I prefer to keep to myself; albeit, in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind.

"I don't know what you're driving at, Doc," I started, staring Xander right in his baby blue hues. "But I _don't _like it. I don't even see why I am here. There is _nothing _wrong with me. Yet, for some God awful reason, my CO goes and orders me to come see you. So, I'm left with no choice but to suffer the dissatisfaction of sitting across from you while you try to pry your way into my mind and try to find some way to accuse me as some psycho. There are plenty of Marines who are worse off than I am. You should be talking to them and _not _me."

Commander Xander exhaled a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. He gazed at me with a look of defeat. I simply stared back at him apathetically and ran my hand through my short dark brown hair cut in a medium fade style. Finally, after a couple moments of uneasy silence, the doctor picked up my patient file and opened it up, his eyes skimming through its contents.

"Do you want to know why your platoon commander ordered you to see me?" he suddenly inquired, catching me off guard.

It took me a moment to process his words before I finally answered. "No."

"Hm," he mumbled quietly under his breath. "Then allow me to enlighten you. He told me that several of the Marines in your platoon, including your roommates Lance Corporals Donaldson and Martinez, had come to him expressing their concern for you. They informed him that ever since your return stateside that you've been borderline anti-social. After duty you shut yourself in your room to play violent video games and drink beer until you decide it is time to hit the rack."

He paused, looking up at me, as if expecting me to offer a rebuttal. I was too shocked at the mere fact that so many people were so concerned with my well-being—however misplaced that it was—that they were willing to go to Second Lieutenant Mitchell about it. Plus, I assumed there was more that he was going to tell me.

Seemingly satisfied with my lack of responding, he continued. "You rarely leave the barracks and mostly only to buy beer or another video game, and then you come back to lock yourself away again. Martinez and Donaldson have apparently have repeatedly invited you to join them in town or to a party which you have declined every time. People are genuinely worried about you, Bradley."

I blinked at him in surprise at the use of my first name. It sounded so awkward to escape from his lips. Mostly because I was used to only hearing it from my mother. My dad, just like every Marine I've ever run into it, calls me by my last name. I don't know why he does it, and to be honest it perturbs me, but I'd never openly admit that to him. Even after having been out of the military for a good number of years, he is still a very, very scary person.

One who I don't quite wish to ever piss off.

I thought about everything the Doc said for I don't know how long. I kind of lost track of time whilst in the midst of the swarm of thoughts that buzzed around in my head. Xander glared at me with a look that I interpreted as his hoping I would give up, throw up the white flag, and start spilling my guts to him. Unfortunately for him, I had a much different plan in mind.

"First off, I'd like to express that I appreciate the concerns of my fellow Marines," I said, coming up with what I wanted to say on the fly. "I wasn't aware that they were so concerned about me as I see nothing about what I do to cause them concern. I'm a grunt, and before that, I'm a _Marine_. Marines drink. It is as much a part of our culture as anything else that has been passed down from generation-to-generation."

"As for the violent video games thing, I have been a video gamer since I was a kid. I always enjoyed a good war game and can remember so many titles that I've played over the years." Saying that brought back a flood of memories to me of all my favorite action and war games. Army Men 3D, Operation: Desert Storm, the 007 games; all of those I'd played at some point in my childhood and teens. "It's not something new that I picked up after returning home. I've always loved that genre of video games. I don't see that changing, either."

Now I had to drive the rest of my argument home. I wanted to prove my point so I could be done with all of the bullshit I had been subjected to. So I could leave this office for good and never have to see Lieutenant Commander Xander again. "As for being distant, again, that is something that isn't new. I'm an introvert, I am not much of a people person and am kinda socially awkward. I don't like crowds, they aren't my thing. I prefer just chilling, kicked back, talking to a small group of friends while enjoying a nice cold beer together. So parties? They aren't my thing. Martinez and Donaldson enjoy them and I don't. There is nothing wrong with that."

"No," Xander retorted, shaking his head slightly. "There is not."

_Thank you! _I thought gleefully. I had finally gotten my point across. He had actually listened to what I had to say. I almost couldn't believe it and I couldn't resist the smile that had crept its way onto my face. "So does that mean you'll stop scheduling me for sessions and let me go about my business?"

Xander shook his head again. I felt my shoulders slump in disappointment.

"No, but I'll consider it," he said, which gave me some respite despite his declination. "There are a few more things I'd like to discuss, but I suppose it can wait until another day. You can leave and return to your barracks, Lance Corporal."

I nodded and stood up. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

I arrived to me room to find Donaldson and Martinez inside. The latter was sitting at the computer desk situated ahead and to the left of the door with a laptop open and on Skype while the former lay on the bottom rack of the bunk with a porno magazine in his hands. I rolled my eyes and felt a pang of anger rise up in me as I laid eyes on them. They were partially responsible for the weekly torment I received at the hands of Doc Xander.

However, despite the feelings that began to boil inside of me, I kept a stoic expression as I marched over to the mini-fridge against the wall by the door that led to the Head (bathroom). I fetched myself a bottle of Budlight, twisted the cap off, and flicked it at Martinez's head. To my sheer disappointment he barely reacted as it bounced off his shaved skull.

"Yo bro, that wasn't cool," he muttered, not taking his eyes off the computer screen for even a second.

I grinned. "Yeah, well, I was hoping you would have actually… y'know… _react _to it."

"Sorry homie."

Maybe it was because I was curious, or perhaps I just wanted to piss my friend off as payback for the hell he unknowingly put me through, but I leaned over far enough to see what the hell had him so entranced. I felt my jaw instantly drop as my eyes were met with the slim, curvaceous, and totally naked body of Martinez's girlfriend, Andrea. She was in the middle of dancing for him in a very seductive manner.

I must have been on the screen because she smiled and waved at me. Martinez didn't seem to catch that it was to me like I did, and I forced myself to look away before he did. I took a sip of my beer as I tried my hardest to erase the thought of Andrea from my mind. I wasn't the type to fantasize about another guy's girl, no matter how _incredible _she looked. If I remembered correctly she was a model trying to make her way to stardom.

_She's certainly got the body for it, _I mused with a lecherous grin before taking another swig of my beer and deciding that my Xbox would be a great distraction from the thoughts I was having.

I booted up my Xbox 360 and was pleased to see Call of Duty 4 was already in the disk tray. I selected it with my controller and clicked it, the screen fading into blackness as the system began to read the disk and load it for me.

I logged on Xbox LIVE and it wasn't long before I was in a game of Team Deathmatch shooting people up with my M16A4. Most of the rounds my team and I kicked some major ass; the highlight of one game being when I practically sniped someone from across one of the larger map's with my M16 using _iron sights_. The guy was pissed off and accused me of cheating. _"You're using an aim bot!" _he barked angrily.

Laughing, I ignored him. People like that weren't worth wasting my breath over. It would be like trying to argue with someone over YouTube with the intention on winning. No one, no matter how damned good you are at arguing with others, can _ever _win in a YouTube argument. What's worse is they all boil down to pointless insults and empty threats being tossed around like hand grenades from one side to the other; the point of the debate lost in the sea of comments.

Donaldson's voice tore my attention from Call of Duty, and I glanced at him from over my shoulder. I was in the post-game lobby so it wasn't a problem. "So, Brad, there's a new game comin' out tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied. "You liked KOTOR, right?"

The mentioning of that name brought vivid memories of long nights spent staring up at my TV with my original Xbox placed on top of it, playing KOTOR until I grudgingly turned off the console to get some sleep before school. It had taken me a long while to beat that game… primarily because I had difficulty navigating my way through Taris. Especially when it came to running through the sewers of the Undercity, trying to get into the Vulker base.

_That Goddamned rancor, _I thought as the memory of fighting that monster flashed by my eyes.

"Yeah, I was a huge fan," I finally answered. "Why? Is it KOTOR III?!"

I had heard rumors that BioWare had been working on it, or at least planned to do so. The second KOTOR had been alright, but I remembered wishing that Obsidian Studios hadn't rushed the game. It was still fun to play and I enjoyed the story—but some of the plot holes left in it just made things a tad confusing for me.

When Donaldson shook his head I felt my heart sink in disappointment.

"No," he said, sounding somewhat disappointed as well. "But it _is _by BioWare. The game's called Mass Effect. Supposedly it's a sci-fi third person RPG. The graphics look pretty good and the main character is fully voiced."

_Damn. That sound like something I'd be interested in. _I returned my attention to the TV as I realized that the next game had just started. "Sounds cool. I'll definitely have to get it and try it out," was all I said before I succumbed to the allure of Call of Duty.

I played for a couple more hours before realizing that it was almost midnight. I quickly said my goodbyes to the friends I was playing with and shut off my Xbox, placing my controller on top of it. I stripped down to my skivvies and tossed my camouflage uniform off to the side before climbing onto the top rack of the bunk. Martinez was the senior lance corporal among us, so he had the privilege of sleeping in his own bed that was adjacent to ours.

As I wrapped up in the covers and fluffed up the pillow before resting my head against it, I grabbed my iPod and skimmed through my music track list before finding the song I wanted to fall asleep to. Knowing that my roommates would bitch about the noise, I plugged in my earphones and pressed the play button. The soothing—yet somber—melody of Ludwig van Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata _rang in my ears.

As an afterthought I set an alarm on the handheld device and picked a song to wake up to. Then I closed my eyes and let Beethoven's music put me to sleep.

**Terms & Phrases You May Not Know**

PT – Physical Training. Self-explanatory.

CLS – Combat Life Saving. A course that Marines undergo, generally taught by a Corpsman (Navy version of a medic), that teaches basic combat first aid.

Skivvies – Undergarments. An OD Green t-shirt and shorts that're worn under one's camouflage uniform and to bed.


	2. Haunted By The Desert

**MASS EFFECT: INTO THE TRAVERSE**

**By Sgt M. Cartwright**

**DISCLAIMER**: I have no affiliation or ownership of BioWare Corporation, Microsoft Game Studios, or the Star Wars franchise. The lyrics shown in this chapter are from "Bodies" by Drowning Pool. I do not claim them to be my own; they're most definitely Drowning Pool's.

**CHAPTER II: HAUNTED BY THE DESERT **

_The sun rested high in the cloudless sky, bathing the barren desert wasteland in intense heat, to which I cursed about under my breath. Standing behind the M2 fifty caliber machine gun of the up-armored Hummvee that followed the lead vehicle in my platoon's convoy, I intently scanned the flat desert for signs of hostility. We were on a road that bisected the barren desert, leading us to our next area of operation after being relieved from our last one by the Army. _

_We were the last of our company to cross this damned highway, Third Platoon having been the first to go. They had encountered an IED that killed everyone in the point vehicle of their convoy and that had us on edge. In the back of my mind I wondered whether or not we would be unlucky enough to run into one and if I would survive the ordeal. Would the shoddy armor of the Hummvee protect us or would my fellow Marines and the Doc be scraping me up from the concrete in pieces. _

_I sighed and took a moment to enjoy the rush of air that caressed the skin on my face. It was but a small respite from the suffocating heat that the sun subjected us to. I snapped out of my trance as I heard the voice of my squad leader, Sergeant Abrams; say something to Lance Corporal Kowalski, who was driving our vehicle. I didn't catch what was said but it had brought me back to reality. I glanced up ahead and past the lead Hummvee that belonged to First Fire Team and noticed a hill roughly half a mile down the road and two hundred meters east of the road. _

_The radio crackled to life as I shifted my weapon towards the hill. _"Hunter Two Actual to Hunter Two-One, we're comin' up on a hill. Interrogative: Do you see it?"

_The sergeant mumbled something under his breath before replying. _"That's an affirm, Two Actual. The hill east of the road."

"Roger, be advised: that's where Hunter Three encountered the IED that took out one of their victors. Stay vigilant. Out."

_I swore under my breath and shook my head. Part of me wished we could have veered off the road until we had left the patch of road in front of the hill behind us. However, I knew the El-Tee wouldn't make that call. So we all had to hope and pray that the hajjis hadn't decided to plant another bomb. _

_Abrams raised First Fire Team and told them to stay frosty as he grew ever closer to the site where four good Marines had died. I kept my eyes on the hill as apprehension built up inside of me. If there was an IED, was it a pressure mine or remote detonated? If it was pressure-plated then Two-One Alpha could kiss their sorry ass's goodbye. If it was set to detonate remotely, then that could spell doom for anybody in the convoy. _

_But that was assuming there was even an IED to begin with. _

_I never really was a very positive thinker. _

_A brief glint of light that originated from the crest of the hill caught my eye. I brought my weapon to bear on it but saw nothing that indicated there was anything there. I frowned, and was about to say something to Sergeant Abrams, when shit hit the fan. _

_I heard the explosion before I felt it. Even with ear plugs the sound of an explosion that close and that powerful near about made me deaf. I ducked as shrapnel fell from the sky and bounced off, or impaled, our Hummvee. _"IED!" _Sergeant Abrams shouted over the radio. _

"All victors halt!"

_Kowalski veered our vehicle to the right and we stopped just fifteen feet from the charred remains of First Fire Team's vehicle. Sergeant Abrams and Corporal Nguyen, my Fire Team Leader, exited the vehicle and dashed over to the downed Hummvee to check for survivors. I couldn't possibly imagine there being any. _

"Two-One to Two Actual, we got wounded Marines! We need Doc-"

"_Corpsman up!" Our platoon corpsman, Petty Officer Third Class Rhodes exclaimed as he passed our Hummvee. It was apparent he had started on his way over here as soon as the vehicle he was in had stopped. _

_I caught the glint out of the corner of my eye, this time on the edge of the hill crest, and I focused my eyes towards it. I momentarily froze in horror as I watched a man in dull grey attire stand up, wielding an RPG in hand, and fired. "Contact! RPG!" I screamed as loud as I could muster. _

_The rocket-propelled grenade zoomed over the wrecked vehicle and exploded harmlessly along the side of the road. The ping and pang of bullets ricocheting off the armor of our vehicles followed the shot. Before the order was even issued, I was squeezing the trigger. _"Two Actual to all victors, engage! Engage!"

_My entire upper body rocked from the sheer force of the recoil of the heavy machine gun as it spat out round after round of fifty caliber towards the enemy hilltop. Sand and dust was kicked into the air as the rounds struck and I visibly saw a plume of crimson as an unfortunate hajji's head exploded. _

Let the bodies hit the floor.

_I felt something slam into my shoulder from behind and my face slammed into the machine gun, causing me to recoil in pain. I heard someone shout over the radio, _"Left! Left! Contact left!"

_I didn't worry about the bad guys behind us. Other gunners had that fire sector covered and I could hear their weapons sounding. Fifty calibers, 240Gs, and Mark 19s firing in either direction as the enemy relentlessly attacked us. I zeroed in on the bad guy wielding the RPG. He had moved to a different position and popped up, trying to align his aim with the Hummvee directly behind ours. _

_A single squeeze of the trigger was all it took. The projectile cut through the bastard's midsection and blew him in half. A visceral spray of blood coated the sand around his lifeless corpse. _

Let the bodies hit the floor.

_Gritting my teeth in pain that stemmed from my shoulder, I yanked the weapon towards another set of targets. I knew thanks to my Kevlar vest that the wound hadn't actually gone through and hit me. Judging from the pain I was experiencing it had left a really nasty bruise, however. _

_I let loose a volley of suppressing fire. The rag heads rolled back down the opposite side of the hill where I couldn't see them and I said some bad words. The crackle of the radio caused me to cease me tirade of expletives. _"This is Two-Two; Two-Two Bravo has a man down!"

Let the bodies hit the floor.

_I slammed my fist against the metal hull of the Hummvee and gripped the machine gun tighter. I quietly wondered to myself who in Second Squad had been hit, as I was real close with some of them. Especially in Second Fire Team. _

_My train of thought was interrupted by a bullet pinging off the armor mere inches away. I scanned the hilltop only to find the asshole who'd very nearly claimed my life at the base of the hill on the right side. He was out in the open like an idiot. I ended him before he could squeeze off another shot. _

_Suddenly I heard a bloodcurdling scream coming from the downed vehicle. At first I dismissed it as one of the victims of the IED and kept laying down heavy suppressing fire. However, when Sergeant Abrams's voice screamed over the radio, all color drained from my face. _

"Two Actual, this is Two-One; Doc is hit! I say again, Doc is down!"

_My shouldered drooped and I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to look over and see how badly injured he was, but I knew if I did I was potentially risking my own life in the process. It'd be my luck that I'd look away from the action for just a second and get pegged in the dome with a bullet. _

Let the bodies hit the…

FLOOR!

My eyes sprung open as I shot up from where I had been laying. I took quick, raspy breaths as I took in my surroundings. I was not in the desert like I had been moments ago; I was in my barracks room lying on my bed that was now stained from moisture. A cold sweat ran down my forehead and drenched my brow. The song that I had set as my alarm, _Bodies _by Drowning Pool, was still blaring in my ears.

I tore the headphones away from my ears and took a deep, calming breath. Lance Corporal Donaldson came into my line of sight. He looked at me concernedly.

"Hey man," he whispered, "you okay?"

After wiping away a bead of sweat, I nodded. "Yeah. Just had a bad dream."

"Of what, brother?"

I smirked. "Your mother."

Donaldson's face contorted into mock anger and he punched me lightly in the shoulder. I chuckled and pulled myself out of my rack. As I stood up I stretched my back, my shoulders, and my neck. A quartet of pops sounded and my roommate visibly cringed at the noise. I just shrugged and made my way towards the head.

"You're turnin' into an old man, brother," Donaldson said from the living area.

I scoffed. "Yeah, the Marine Corps'll do that to you."

I shut the door and looked myself in the mirror behind the sink. I scrutinized the honey brown eyes that were staring back at me. Once full of life and a youthful sparkle, now they were dull and unremarkable. I ran a hand through my dark brown—almost black—hair and rubbed the back of my head where my hair started fading away to naked skin. I liked the medium regulation haircut the most out of all the regulation cuts. Before I shipped out to Iraq I looked like your typical _boot _Jarhead, rocking the infamous high and tight.

In Iraq, without the opportunity to regularly groom myself (aside from my face), my hair had grown out to the point of exceeding regulations. When my unit returned stateside I decided to try the medium reg out and ended up falling in love with it. Staff Sergeant harps on me about it much to my dismay. _"Devil Dog! You ain't OFP!" _he always screams at me during every formation.

An occurrence I wasn't looking forward to today, either.

My eyes fell to the small scar that ran across my left cheek, ending just before the reaching the bridge of my nose. The memory of how I came about acquiring it flashed across my mind and I immediately attempted to suppress it. Needless to say, shrapnel wounds are painful as all _hell_. My fire team leader had the worst of it, but he turned out no worse for ware in the end. He would always hop on a video chat on Xbox LIVE and show off his scars to his friends like they were something to be admired.

To this day I don't know how you can turn something so negative into a positive. Civvies and fellow Marines ask me how I got my scar all the time. And they always end up dissatisfied because I refuse to answer them every time. It's not something you flaunt, in my opinion.

"Dog, how long you gon' be in there?" I heard Martinez bark at me through the door. "I gotta shit!"

Sighing, I grabbed my tooth brush and tooth paste, quickly stripped out of my skivvies, and jumped in the shower. It took me three minutes to scrub myself down, wash up, and finish brushing my teeth. I grabbed a towel that hung from the bar mounted on the wall, wrapped myself up, and stepped out of the head. Martinez rushed in past me and slammed the door shut behind him. I chuckled and made my way over to my footlocker to retrieve a fresh pair of skivvies and my cammie utilities.

Twenty minutes later I was assembled with the rest of my platoon outside. It was a dark and chilly November morning. The sun wasn't due to rise for couple of hours and the only source of light came from the flood lights mounted along the outside of our barracks and the nearby street lights. Staff Sergeant Giddens stood rigid as he watched over us like a hawk eying its prey. Some of the new boots fresh out of SOI were nervous, likely wondering if he was going to grill them boot camp-style.

Me? I was used to the treatment and just stood in a relaxed form of parade rest. We were waiting for the lieutenant to arrive so we could get things underway. In the back of my mind I hoped that we wouldn't be put on standby again. I _hated _sitting in the barracks waiting for our leadership to get the foot out of their ass and tell us what the hell we were supposed to do for the day. However, that was just a footnote in my mind at the moment. Most of my attention was directed to what Donaldson had told me last night.

_Mass Effect? That sounds like it'll be good. _

I've always been a huge fan of BioWare games. I was first introduced to them when Knights of the Old Republic was released. I played the hell out of that game. Spent countless nights awake progressing through the story and wondering what would happen next on each planet I visited. A love of the Star Wars universe was one of the few things I kept with me from my childhood. The idea of traveling through space, discovering and living amongst alien civilizations… it was—and still is—so fascinating to me.

But, y'know, it's not something I would openly admit to anyone. Well, except _maybe _Donaldson. Martinez is a cool guy, but… he wouldn't understand.

I subdued my thoughts as I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Lieutenant Mitchell strode up to Staff Sergeant Giddens and snapped to at his side. "Platoon!" Giddens barked, "ATTEN-HUT!"

Thirty-eight boots clacked together in unison as the entire platoon snapped to rigid attention. Lieutenant Mitchell smiled at us and brought the clipboard he had been holding at his side up to his face. He skimmed over it and then returned his attention to the platoon. _Please don't put us on standby. Please don't put us on standby. For the love of _God _don't put us on standby. _

"Marines, we have a fairly busy schedule for today."

_Oh thank God. He's not putting us on standby, _I thought in relief. I was sure I'd lose my shit if he told us we would be sitting in our barracks twiddling our thumbs for half the day.

"First on the list is PT for a couple of hours; Sergeant Harrison will be in charge of that today," Mitchell told us, and I resisted the urge to swear under my breath. Harrison had a tendency to make us do the most retarded exercises I've ever heard of. Instead of prescribing to the normal routine, he researched a shit ton of different exercise routines and tortured us with them whenever he was put in charge of the PT circle. I _hated _it.

"After that you'll be dropping by the armory to check out your rifles," he explained. "We're scheduled for some time on the range at 0900. Once that's done, we'll do some more PT and then you're all due for a class on stress management followed by a suicide prevention course."

_Maybe being on standby isn't so bad after all…_

"We'll conclude the day with a motivated run down Leatherneck Lane," Mitchell stated, and then added to our chagrin, "in full PPE."

I kept my face expressionless but cursed on the inside. I liked running, don't get me wrong, but it was annoying lugging around a rifle and combat gear like we were a bunch of lowly recruits in boot camp. If we were going out into the field it wouldn't bother me so much; it makes sense to get as much exercise as you can lugging around your equipment since when you go overseas, _that's _what you'll be doing. But, if I remembered correctly, we weren't scheduled for a field exercise for another three weeks.

Sometimes I really hate the Marine Corps.

**A/N**: Apologies for the short chapter. I am suffering from every author's worst nightmare; writer's block. I couldn't really think of anything more to write at the moment so I decided to end it there. I promise that the next chapter will be longer and hopefully by the end of it Simmons will find himself sucked into Mass Effect.

In fact, that's exactly what my plan is. Like I said in the last chapter I wanted to do something different and dedicate the first few chapters to character development. I want you to get to know who Simmons is for a reason and it'll all mean something as the story progresses. For those of you who're active duty military and happen to come across this, I hope the vast majority of you don't like him too much. His attitude is intentional and I hope it doesn't put you off from reading my story.

Also I'd like to state for the record that I am trying to make this as realistic and authentic as possible to how things are in the 'grunt world' of the Marine Corps. I know not every Marine is as… well… demotivated as Mr. Simmons is. Quite a few of my friends are Marines and I know one who is worthy of being his own recruiting advertisement. And he is a grunt.

Any mistakes I make, though, you can blame on me being a nasty civilian. I do have aspirations to enlist, I just have to settle some things in real life before I can. Most namely finishing my high school education (I'm a drop out who has returned to the textbooks… yeah, not a good first impression, I'm aware). Anyway, anything I do happen to get wrong, drop me a review and I'll try to correct the discrepancies. And I hope this story will be enjoyable to everyone; both military and non-military.

Well, I've rambled on enough. Be sure to leave a review; it really encourages and inspires writers like myself to keep writing and improving. Have a great day and hope you like Into The Traverse so far! :)

**Terms & Phrases You May Not Know**

SOI – School of Infantry, where all infantry bound Marines go for their post-boot camp training. Also referred to as the _ITB _or Infantry Training Battalion.

OFP – Acronym for "Own Fucking Program," a Marine who does his own in a nutshell; doesn't follow the rules.

PPE – Acronym for "Personal Protective Equipment," a Marine's gear such as his Kevlar, MTV/OTV (Modular Tactical Vest/Outer Tactical Vest), etc.

Boot – An inexperienced Marine, generally fresh out of training. Pretty much the same meaning as greenhorn, rookie, cherry, etc.


	3. Getting The Game

**MASS EFFECT: INTO THE TRAVERSE**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N**: I want to thank everyone that has favorited and followed my story so far. It encourages me so much to see that you're enjoying my story so far and inspires me to continue writing. Although, don't be shy. Dropping me a review lets me know what your thoughts are on my story and any constructive criticism and advice you all have would be greatly appreciated. :)

Also, as a side note; my access to internet is limited at best. While I can check FanFiction on my smart phone and message people, read stories, and etc., I can't upload documents and post chapters unfortunately. So the time between updates may be a bit irregular, but I promise I will post new chapters as quickly as can when I have them written up and ready for posting. That is my solemn vow to you, my readers. And rest assured that I keep my promises and my vows.

Oh, and I know I said this chapter would be longer, and I expected it to be. But, it just didn't happen that way. Though, you can rest assured that Chapter IV will be much longer as it will be taking place on the besieged Eden Prime. And there shall be a couple unexpected twists.

**To EcoSeeker247 **– Thank you! I'm happy that you like what I am doing so far with the story and that my main character interests you. I'm still fleshing him out and I am trying not to make him seem too… unrealistic? Dramatic? I don't know. But, anyway, I have great plans in store for Simmons. Many, many great plans.

**To unity9 – **Thanks. I definitely plan to write more… much more. Lol.

**To Mr. Silver Gold – **Thanks for the review.

**To bri333865 – **Thank you, I appreciate it. I pride myself on characterization and hope that I'm writing my characters in a believable fashion. Simmons is a bit challenging for me because I've never really written a character like him… that, and this is the first time I've tried writing a story in first person. So I hope I'm doing alright.

* * *

**CHAPTER III: GETTING THE GAME**

The moon had risen by the time the platoon had been dismissed for the day. I lazily marched into our room with Donaldson and Martinez behind me and set my kevlar down on top of my footlocker. Then I collapsed into my chair and took off my MTV, tossing it onto my footlocker beside the helmet. My friends took off their gear while I relished in the fact I was finally sitting down after hours of being on my feet.

In Iraq I once went eighteen hours on my feet before being given a chance to sit down and relax. So this wasn't anything new to me. Still, it felt good not be standing, walking, or running around like we had been all day. My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of relaxing in my chair with a beer beside me while I play the hell out of some video games.

And that reminded me of something.

"Donaldson," I called, getting my friend's attention. "Didn't you say that Mass Effect game came out today?"

He nodded at me. "Yeah."

"What time is it?"

"1930," he replied matter-of-factly. "GameStop doesn't close til midnight tonight. You thinkin' about going?"

It was my turn to nod. He thought about this for a second and then smirked. "Cool, let's get out of our cammies and then wait here. I gotta go get somebody else who'll want to come with us."

I said nothing as I begrudgingly lifted myself out of the chair and slid my gear off my footlocker. I put in the combination to the lock and set it aside too, then lifted the lid and retrieved some items from its confines. In my grasp was a set of civilian clothes and I set them down on the lid of the footlocker as I began stripping down. It took me roughly five minutes to redress into my civilian clothes. I placed my cammies inside the footlocker and locked it back up.

Donaldson had finished getting dressed himself and then he strode out of the room and down the hall. I made my way back over to my chair and sat down while I waited. I inspected the clothes I was wearing and smirked slightly. I wore dark blue jeans with the pants legs tucked over my combat boots. I had on a plain white t-shirt with a jet black short-sleeve button-up worn over top of it that I purposely left unbuttoned.

Martinez looked at me and shook his head. "You tryna be a pretty boy hick or somethin', bro?"

I chuckled at him and shook my head. "Not trying to," I rebuttled. "I am."

He rolled his eyes at me and looked away. I laughed a little harder. "Hey, one of us has got to look good."

"Screw you, homie."

I snickered as I subdued the urge to comment further. I was tempted to crack a joke about that being against Marine Corps regulations, you know, with Don't Ask Don't Tell and all. But, I decided not to on the grounds that it would cause an argument on who could come up with the better comebacks. We Marines are a strange breed.

Donaldson rounded the corner back into the room. A second later a slightly shorter man who looked no older than eighteen stood in the doorway. He was clean shaven with a shaved head and had sparkling grey eyes that shimmered in the light. He was wearing a pair of sneakers, blue jeans, and a black t-shirt with "MARINES" stitched across his chest. I sighed and shook my head.

"Hey Lance Corporals," PFC Adrian Koto greeted as he leaned against the doorframe.

"What's up, boot?" I asked, then looked to Donaldson. "He's coming with us?"

Donaldson nodded. I tried not to frown and smiled weakly at the young Marine standing in our doorway. Koto had recently graduated from SOI and been assigned to our platoon as a replacement for one of the Marines we lost in Third Squad. So far he seemed like a cool kid but he was a little too moto for his own good. The Marines t-shirt was evidence enough to that fact.

I stood up and stretched my back, hearing, as well as feeling, a series of pops occur down my spine. I then grabbed my car keys from under my pillow on my rack and started towards the door. Koto stepped aside to permit me exit and Donaldson followed close behind. I headed down the stairs and towards the front doors of the building in silence while Koto and Donaldson chatted with each other. I was surprised Donaldson talked to the kid; I hadn't yet learned that they both had gone to the same high school.

When we exited the building, my skin was immediately assaulted by a bone-chilling wind that caused me to start shivering uncontrollably. I found myself wishing I had been stationed somewhere else instead of North Carolina. Somewhat with a warmer climate. Like Hawaii. Since I was a kid I never liked the winter and usually stayed inside all the time playing video games until the first signs of spring showed outside. It wasn't much of a life but it never really bothered me.

I led the three of us over to my car and grinned as my eyes fell upon it. Sitting in the furthest parking space I could find was a crimson 1997 Chevy Camaro with a t-top. My parents had gotten it for me as a high school graduation present since I had always expressed my dislike of driving mom's mini-van to school in the mornings. Not that I ever got teased by anyone for it; I just really didn't like driving it. When they brought me home after my graduation ceremony it had been sitting in our yard waiting for me.

I fondly recall my jaw dropping in shock when I laid eyes upon it. I had been expecting them to buy me an old truck or some piece of shit car for me to have as my first car. I had _not _been expecting a Camaro and I had thanked my parents probably a million times for it. Surprisingly, it was my dad who'd paid for it. He knew a guy who was selling his for a relatively cheap price and decided he couldn't let the offer pass him by. My parents had discussed it after he bought it and they had come to the decision it would be mine.

To this day I'm thankful they had made such a decision.

I unlocked my door and climbed inside the car, leaning over to unlock the passenger side door. It took us a minute to pile into the car and get our seatbelts on; Donaldson had to pull the seat down and forward so that Koto could climb in the back. The only downside of owning a two door vehicle, sadly.

Once everyone was in and I'd started the car, I brought the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Thankfully there wasn't as much traffic as usual. For some reason traffic was usually terrible on base and one thing I learned is that Marines may be good at a lot of things, but driving isn't one of them.

At least, for the majority of Marines.

After we passed through the main gate of the base I decided to spark a bit of conversation. I wasn't very familiar with PFC Koto so I decided it was high time I get to know him a bit. He seemed like a pretty cool kid, if just a tad bit too motivated for his own good. _Though that's pretty much every boot in Marine Corps history, _I thought, causing me to absentmindedly glance at my right arm. Underneath the sleeve of my shirt was a tattoo of the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor—the Marine Corps' symbol—with the words "Serve With Pride" above it and "Enjoy The Ride" below it.

My ex-girlfriend, Kara, had given me the idea for the tattoo after I'd graduated from recruit training. Being the dumb moto boot that I was, I actually went ahead and got in during my ten days of leave before hopping on the bus to Camp Geiger for SOI. It was my first tattoo, my second being the "DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR" tat that ran across my back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

Like I said, I was a dumb motivated _boot. _

"So Koto," I said, breaking the amiable silence that had fallen upon us. "You're with Third Squad, right? How is it?"

I saw Koto look up at me in the corner of my eye in the rear view mirror. He looked surprised that I had spoken to him. "Good, Lance Corporal," he replied smartly.

"The salt dogs aren't giving you too much trouble, are they?" I asked with a slight grin.

"No, Lance Corporal," he said. "They've all been pretty nice to me. Except Corporal Hernandez… he's kinda a jerk."

Corporal Hernandez was the squad leader for third squad. I chuckled and nodded my head slightly as I changed lanes. "Yeah, he's a real prick. But, you'll get used to it, boot." Koto offered me a weak smile and then released a heavy sigh.

"The Corporal got me in trouble with First Sergeant last week," he admitted, his down-turned eyes glaring at his feet. "He told me that First Sergeant was looking for a Prick E-8 radio and that I should try to help him find it."

Neither Donaldson nor I could contain our laughter as he told us that. The Marine Corps currently services the PRC, or 'Prick', One-Five-Three radio system. Sometimes us salty war dogs like to mess with the FNGs by giving them mundane or absolutely ridiculous things to do… mostly at their own expense. This particular joke was very flexible as you could essentially use it against anybody. Sergeants, staff sergeants, lieutenants… you get it.

So, in essence, when he walked up to the First Sergeant's door and told him he was there to help him find the Prick E-8, he was calling the First Sergeant a prick. I could imagine First Sergeant Carlson not taking that too well. I really wish I could've been there to watch the ass chewing as it took place. It would have been very entertaining.

"You just gotta learn to not be so gullible, PFC," Donaldson commented, leaning around the chair to look at the ashamed young Marine in the backseat. "Whenever someone tells you to do something that sounds meaninglessly retarded, stop and think about it. It'll save you from a lot of embarrassment."

Koto nodded his head with a small smile. "Thanks, Lance Corporal."

"No problem. And call me Brian."

I waved at his reflection in the rear view. "I'm Brad."

"Adrian."

Just as I was about to say something GameStop came into view. I pulled the car into the parking lot and into a space, then shut off the engine and looked at Donaldson. He looked about as excited as I felt. Koto's face was unreadable and I wasn't sure if he had ever played a BioWare game before. If he hadn't then he would be getting a crash course in their genius very soon.

It took us about ten minutes to purchase our copies of the game. We had to wait in a fairly long line and then go through the normal BS before we could buy ours. Pull out IDs; commence small-talk about the fact that we're U.S. Marines that always seems to be such a surprise to people, and then fork out the cash. When we returned to my Camaro I was gingerly grasping my copy of Mass Effect in my hand with the receipt in my pocket.

I fished for my keys and turned on my car again, revving the engine a couple of times (which caused quite a few heads to turn in our direction), and then I pulled us out of the parking lot on our way back towards Lejeune.

Curiosity overwhelmed me, so I glanced at Koto in the backseat through the rearview. "So Adrian, you ever play any of the BioWare games?" I asked, the curiosity obvious in my voice.

"No, but I've heard they make good guys."

I nodded and Brian scoffed. "Hell yeah they do," he proclaimed, a grin on his face. "KOTOR was by far one of their best."

"In _your _opinion," I reminded him. While I didn't disagree with his opinion and technically shared it, the memory of how many times that statement had caused arguments with some of our friends caused me to remind him not everyone agreed with him.

"Right," he said indifferently. "In my opinion."

The PFC said something that ignited a spark in me. "I dunno, I'm not really a fan of Star Wars."

I looked up at the rearview in shock. In my opinion Star Wars was one of the greatest sagas in existence. The prequels may of sucked somewhat and the Collector's Edition of the original trilogy may have been complete and utter trash (aside from some nice add-ins), but overall it had a spectacular story to it. So many memories flashed before my eyes of sitting in front of the TV as a little kid watching the original trilogy in what I can only describe as awe.

When I was younger I was the kid who went outside with his friends with those plastic lightsabers and had duels with my friends. We would make up some kind of story for a character and let our imaginations run wild. I also had a toy Han Solo pistol and a couple of my friends had some E-11s that they used… along with Stormtrooper costumes made by their parents to make the whole experience ten times better.

I sighed and shook my head. "You have much to learn, young one," I said in typical Jedi fashion. Donaldson laughed and decided to throw a quip of his own in there too.

"I find his lack of faith disturbing."

Now it was my turn to laugh. Adrian chuckled and exaggeratedly shook his head. "Good Lord, I've hopped in a car with a pair of Star Wars nerds."

Brian and I laughed and then we changed the subject. We talked about Koto's family and his motivations for joining the Marine Corps. We asked him probing questions about how many girls he'd dated and how serious the relationships got. And a whole lot more.

By the time we stopped conversing we were pulling back into the barracks parking lot. I parked the car, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and pocketed them. Then the three of us got out and we headed back inside the barracks.

When Donaldson and I had returned to our room I grabbed myself a beer and shed the Mass Effect case of its wrapping. Donaldson was about in front of his Xbox and TV when a knock at the door got our attention. Staff Sergeant Giddens stood in the doorway. "Donaldson, Martinez, El-Tee wants to see you," he said, and then added for effect, "Now."

Martinez stood up and Donaldson huffed before he too stood up. The two of them walked out and the Staff Sergeant lingered for a moment. He saw the open beer in my hand and scoffed before walking away. I chuckled and took a swig to spite him before returning my attention back to the case in my hand.

I opened it up and my nostrils were assaulted by that pleasant 'new game' smell. I popped the CD out of the case and turned on the Xbox. After clicking the button to open the disk tray I replaced the Call of Duty 4 game disk with Mass Effect and closed the tray. As soon as the option to play the game appeared I clicked it.

My screen went black and I heard the disk spin as the laser attempted to read it. I set my beer down on the floor and held the controller in my hands with tight expectancy. The eagerness to play the game was getting the better of me. The disk couldn't load fast enough if you asked me.

However, once the cutscene introducing the BioWare logo began, I started to feel… _strange_. _Tired_. I shook my head in an attempt to shake the feeling but it persisted, to my annoyance. My vision started to blur and my head started to ache; the pain began in the back of my head while slowly snaking its way to the front.

Soon I couldn't see anymore and I lost control of my body. I fell off my chair and sprawled to the floor, likely knocking my beer over in the process with my chair. The last thing I heard before I succumbed to unconsciousness was music playing as the main menu for the game faded into view…


End file.
